Paris and Salzburg
by TrapperII
Summary: Vignettes from Georg and Maria's honeymoon along with narrative snatches from the time during their engagement.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: **This is my first SOM fic, but don't let that stop you! I want to try to make the characters "sound" as much like themselves as possible.

**Summary:** Vignettes from Georg and Maria's honeymoon along with narrative snatches from the time during their engagement.

**Disclaimer:** If I owned them, the special features on the DVD would be longer. Alas, I do not.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

The sun's morning rays, slanting through the regal window of a hotel suite, illuminated the figure of Captain Georg von Trapp, propped on his elbow, considering the sleeping figure of his bride.

Something akin to awe had taken hold of him. He thought of his first wedding, twenty years distant. He had been happy then—wonderfully happy—but it was a heedless happiness that knew nothing of loss and therefore, perhaps, nothing of real joy. That fresh and profound emotion coursed through him.

He reached forward and smoothed her tousled blond hair, caressed the round curve of her ear, allowed his fingers to linger gently on her cheek. She blinked once, twice, slowly, and gazed up at him, eyes freshly clouded with sleep.

"Good morning," he murmured, a grin spreading across his face.

Her eyes glowed languidly back at him as her lips curved upward. She reached up to finger the lock of dark hair that had tumbled across his forehead. He leaned down and kissed her gently.

"Maria," he breathed, inhaling the scent of her skin.

"Maria." He met her gaze again, and she smiled at the sound of her name once more on his lips. She reached up and cupped his face, and he kissed the inside of her wrist.

Then he glanced despairingly at the morning rays filtering into the room. "We should have booked tickets on the afternoon train. What _were_ we thinking?"

"That we wanted to get to Paris before nightfall, I suppose." Her voice was deeper than usual, rough from sleep. She paused, and her eyes, a brilliant blue beneath the sun's rays, filled with a mischievous light. "Maybe we should just stay here."

He smiled down at her indulgently. "Paris would never forgive me for depriving it of your company. And, you know, Austria needs allies. We can't have the French against us."

She laughed, and, sighing, feigned resignation.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I wish.

**Chapter 2**

His eyes traveled down his wife's curves as she left her seat beside him and moved toward the front of the car. She carried herself like a queen, and yet he had seen her look equally natural scampering barefoot after the children, grown-up dignity set aside for a raucous game of tag. She seemed to him to belong to any setting, whether among the hills in a simple dress of her own making or wearing a smartly tailored skirt and jacket in a first-class train car. He chuckled to himself, knowing she preferred the former.

It had required a dance of wills to persuade Maria into putting together an extensive trousseau for their honeymoon. She declared that she had never had much need for a lot of clothes. What clothes she did have had always been perfectly serviceable, and though she recognized that her new standing would require her to look the part of a _Ritter's_ wife, she had balked at the amount of money he handed her as she and Liesl prepared for their first shopping trip in town.

"Darling, it really is quite reasonable," he had explained, counting on his fingers for effect. "You'll need a few evening gowns, a coat or two for chilly evenings, some day dresses, shoes to go with them, and at least ..." he calculated, "seven suits."

"Seven??"

"Well, we will be away for over a month."

"Yes, but _seven_??"

Ultimately they had compromised. She bought four tailored suits, among the other items he had mentioned, and then insisted upon giving all of her old clothes to the poor. He successfully petitioned her to keep two: one a gauzy blue dress that he secretly determined never to allow her to part with as long as he lived; the other, a dress eminently suited for playing tag that he had first beheld clinging defiantly to her figure, sopping wet with lake water.

In one matter, however, he had stood his ground like a tyrant. He, Liesl, and Maria had strolled through several boutiques before they saw the dress: simple, elegant, stunning, the gauzy white veil forming a billowing train. He had seen her eyes widen and heard her breath catch before she turned away sensibly to look at other options.

He insisted she try it on. She demurred. He pressed harder.

"Don't try it on if you don't like it. Humor me with the truth, however. You do like it, don't you?"

She let out a sigh. "It's the most beautiful dress I've ever seen."

Her preference admitted, he proceeded to scrupulously ignore any and all pecuniary objections. Liesl, who helped Maria with the fitting, had taken up his cause quite readily and eagerly described to her father how beautiful her mother-to-be looked in the gown, while the object of this praise strolled beside them, arm linked in his, looking quietly radiant. Intrigued by the new light he perceived in his fiancée's countenance, he only half payed attention to Liesl. And then the answer struck him: _at last, she knew that she was beautiful!_ A vibrant, almost triumphant laugh rolled from his chest, interrupting Liesl and causing both of his companions to look up at him quizzically.

"Father?" Liesl ventured. Her father was not generally prone to spontaneous outbursts of mirth.

"Forgive me for interrupting you, darling," he said, quickly stroking his daughter's cheek. "I'm just happy is all."

They continued on in a contented silence, and he reached over to cover with his own the hand Maria had tucked under his elbow. He vowed that that very night, and always, he would be sure to tell her how beautiful she was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Still don't.

**Chapter 3**

"Madame. Madame! Je vous prie de ne pas ouvrir la fenetre, s'il vous plait."

"What?" Maria looked around, startled, at the pert-looking train conductor who had just spoken, his voice laden heavily with scornful fatigue.

"He says you should not open the window," Georg intervened, taking her hand protectively and addressing—in a tolerably good accent—a cool "Merci, Monsieur" to the irritable attendant.

"Oh," she said, mildly chastened. He smiled at her and planted a reassuring kiss on her forehead.

"Do you speak French?" she asked after a momentary silence, realizing with some surprise that they hadn't discussed this topic before. There was so much to learn about each other!

"Not really. Not sufficiently. No more than the typical university education with a bit of time abroad added to the mix. I understand what's said to me, mostly."

She directed her gaze back to the window and the lush French countryside slipping away beneath the train. It did not feel completely foreign, but it had a different character than the hills and valleys at home that she knew so well. She wanted nothing more than to breathe in the fresh air and experience the vibrancy of this new setting, but, alas, the window remained a stubborn barrier, its only redeeming quality the faint reflection that it captured of Georg seated next to her.

It still made her breath catch to look at him and realize that he was _hers_. A navel hero; sophisticated; so wise in the ways of the world. As for her, she had seen so little of the world and the people in it. Only a few months earlier, she had been an insignificant postulant, failing in her efforts to qualify to take vows, and now ...

He felt the same sense of awe, he had told her. _He felt the same_. She laced her fingers loosely through his and relaxed. Her expressive eyes took on a cast of quiet reverie as she leaned her head against the window and thought back to the events of the past glorious month.

* * *

She remembered vividly the emotions of the day following their engagement. Georg had left around lunchtime to take care of some business in town, leaving her alone with the children, Max, and the eagerly gossiping staff. The sudden disappearance of the baroness and hints of a romance between the Captain and the governess had quickly set tongues wagging.

Those apprised of the truth of the situation—the children and Max—reacted with sincere pleasure and love, but all the same a hint of awkward formality had been introduced into their circle. Marta and Gretl proved incapable of treating her as they usually had. They positively beamed at her, sitting beside her or holding her skirt as she walked, and it was as though their constant smiles had rendered them mute. The older children moved about with an air of elation and suppressed excitement, but they seemed incapable of casual conversation or of putting their attention to any particular task or diversion. Each sat in an expectant silence, glancing at her from time to time and responding to her joyful look with bashful smiles of pleasure. Max sat with an unread newspaper in hand, chuckling occasionally, and twiddling his mustache.

As for Maria herself, she was caught up in a delicious whirlwind of befuddlement, confusion, and absolute happiness. She hardly knew how to behave. Should she perform her duties as a governess? Or was the home really now her home? The children really her children? The Captain really _her_ Captain? _Georg_, she reminded herself ruefully. She tried to appear dignified, but her joy shone clear as crystal from her unruly eyes. She had never been able to control _them_.

About an hour after lunch, someone at last broke the charged silence that reigned on the villa's patio and gave voice to the topic that consumed each person's thoughts. It was Gretl who spoke.

"Fraulein Maria? When you are our new mother, will you still be our governess?" she asked, her innocently inquisitive face tilted upwards.

Maria chuckled happily and hugged the little girl against her with one arm. "No, darling."

"But I don't want a different governess."

"Well, you won't have _any_ governess anymore. But we'll still sing together, and go on picnics, and play games, and I'll still brush your hair and tuck you into bed ..."

Gretl's smile returned fully to her face. "Oh, good!"

Maria paused, looked around her, taking in the lake and the grounds, then, jumping to her feet, exclaimed, "Why don't we play a game now?"

The other children looked up from their various tasks with interest.

"What would you like to play?" Maria asked.

"Tag!" was Friedrich's response, while at the same time Kurt jumped up and exclaimed, "Catch!"

"Hmmm," Maria said, rubbing her chin as though thinking very hard. "Why don't we play both at once?"

"How do we do that?" Brigitta asked, her interest piqued.

"Well, one person is _it_, but instead of chasing and touching people to make them _it_, you'll have to throw the ball at them and hit them instead." Maria explained.

"As long as they don't throw the ball hard," Louisa said.

"We could use something soft instead of a ball," Liesl interjected helpfully. "We have that old beanbag in the nursery."

Liesl was dispatched to fetch the beanbag, and soon thereafter a lively game ensued. Everyone made themselves an easy target for Marta and Gretl, only to whirl and dodge and dart behind trees the second Kurt picked up the beanbag. "I'm tired of being _it,_" he complained on his sixth turn, and Maria subtly slowed her pace and failed to duck quite fast enough to avoid his aim.

The game was interrupted when Louisa missed Friedrich and instead threw the beanbag into the lake, but Friedrich removed his shoes and socks, hitched up his shorts, and waded gallantly into the water to retrieve it. His true motives became clear, however, when he heaved the waterlogged projectile at Louisa at close range, spraying her with water and leaving a large wet spot on her dress.

"Friedrich!" she gasped, but she lunged for the beanbag and hurled it at Liesl before the latter could know what hit her. The rules of the game were soon abandoned as each person strove to wet the others with the soggy bag. The resulting shrieks and peals of laughter were easily audible to the Captain as he pulled up to the house, parked, and made his way around the grounds toward the lake.

When he turned the corner and caught sight of his family—his_ family!_—he felt his heart swell within his chest. Maria was standing in front of a squealing Marta and Gretl, her arms stretched wide as if to protect them from Kurt, who was advancing upon them, grinning maniacally. Kurt tossed something straight at Maria's gut, and she fell to the ground melodramatically, her forearm falling across her forehead in an attitude of defeat. "Oh, Kurt. That's it. You got me."

Georg, unseen, approached the group swiftly, pulled an unsuspecting Marta into his arms, and swung her around in the air.

"Hello!" he exclaimed jovially, setting his daughter back on the ground, then stooping to feel the damp front of her pinafore. "You're all wet!"

A cacophony of voices answered him.

"Louisa threw the beanbag in the water ... !"

"Liesl threw it back in the water again, on purpose ...!"

"And then Fraulein Maria ..."

"Ah, Fraulein Maria." The Captain pronounced, raising his eyebrow slightly and looking down at Maria, who, still on her back, had pushed herself up onto her elbows. "Hello," he addressed her, the timbre of his voice deepening.

"Hello, Captain." Her cheeks, already flushed with exercise, burned hot.

He reached out to her and helped her to her feet but did not let go of her hand.

"Alright," he said happily, breaking the silence that had fallen upon the group and casting a fond gaze upon his children. "Go get cleaned up for dinner. I need to speak with Fraulein Maria."

The couple watched the children chase each other back toward the house. When their laughter and jumbled strains of conversation had faded in the distance, Georg turned to Maria, pulled her hand gently upward and kissed it. It was the first time they had been alone all day.

Still unaccustomed to their new intimacy, particularly without the veil of night to embolden her, Maria blushed. Then, determined that she ought not be shy, she willed herself to look into his eyes. "We missed you while you were in town," she said. "I missed you."

He brought her hand to his lips once more, his sly smile widening at her display of courage. "And I missed you. However," he chuckled, "it does look like you managed to stay occupied."

She laughed, a beautiful crystalline laugh, and his eyes flashed with pleasure at the sight of her shining eyes and her smooth throat. "I think we all had some pent-up energy to expend."

He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, and they began to stroll side-by-side along the lake. "O-ho, indeed. The children seemed like they were about ready to pop at lunchtime." He paused and looked sideways at her. "They're so happy, Maria. They adore you."

Maria, never very good at accepting a compliment, began walking again. "Something about them is so fresh and ..." she searched for the word "... honest. Being around them makes me feel that there is no end to life's possibilities."

"Perhaps that's why you took to one another so well. You're cut from the same cloth."

"They're your children, Captain."

"Ours, you mean."

She stopped abruptly and turned to face him. "Ours," she repeated softly.

He caressed her cheek lightly with his thumb, and she stepped closer. He kissed her, his arms wrapping around her waist as she reached up to embrace him. A long moment passed before they broke apart. His lips glided across her cheek to rest by her ear. "And it's _Georg_," he chided her softly.

A delicious shiver ran down her spine. "_Georg_," she chuckled. "I'll have to practice."

"I hope to give you plenty of opportunities to do so."

"However, it _was_ Captain von Trapp I fell in love with, and therefore _Captain _will always be dear to me."

"That seems reasonable, _Fraulein_." She felt him smiling.

They savored their closeness in silence for several minutes.

"I'd like to have more, you know," he murmured against her temple.

"More what?"

"Children. With you."

She pulled back so she could see his face.

"That is, of course, if you want ..."

"What, I ... _yes!!_" she spluttered. "Want them! Cap-- ... Georg, I ..." At a loss for words, she reached up and kissed him hard on the mouth.

"But forgive me, darling," he said a moment later, stepping back and taking both her hands. "I fear I'm jumping a bit ahead of myself. First things first."

She looked at him quizzically.

"I didn't do this properly last night. The moment I realized that you returned my love, I lost all thought of observing formalities. But I would like to do this right."

Her eyes widened slightly as he brought from his pocket a tiny bundle of fine white cloth. He unfolded it with care and extracted a delicate diamond ring. Resting between his thumb and forefinger, it glinted in the sunlight that filtered through the trees. "Business in town," he smiled, almost shyly.

He took her hand again and opened his mouth to speak, but he hesitated when he saw something like a cloud pass over her clear blue eyes. "Maria, what is it?"

"Oh," she murmured. "I ..." She looked across the lake to the mountain as though gathering resolution before she turned back to meet his concerned gaze. "You've given me so much. This life. It's something I never dared dream of. This beautiful home. A family. Your love. I feel ... I feel so _blessed_ already, and I don't need a --"

"Maria," he interrupted her, his voice firm but full of love. "This home, my family—until you came, they held little meaning for me anymore." He turned, surveying the lake, the mountains, the house in the distance. "I was surrounded by all this beauty, by the love of my children, and I couldn't see it." His voice trailed away pensively, and he turned to face her again, his intense gaze seeking hers. "If this home is anything, if my family is anything, it is because of _you_. You brought meaning back. You gave me back my children. You reminded me what it is to love. There is nothing I can give you that you haven't given me already. I am in your debt and always will be."

He lifted her hand again, holding the ring next to it. "I want— I _ask—_only to spend the rest of my life repaying you, my love, if indeed that is possible. _If_ you will let me."

Her eyes, rapt with emotion, shone clearly once more. She nodded once, never removing her gaze from his, and he slipped the ring gently onto her finger. He pulled her to him again. Sunlight and shadow danced upon them. Several minutes passed in silence.

Suddenly, the Captain chuckled.

"What?" Maria asked, amused.

"I just realized. I do believe we're late for dinner."

"Oh! I suppose we should go back then," she sighed.

He laughed again, his eyes twinkling. "Of course, this could completely undermine our parental authority." Her face didn't register comprehension, so he continued. "At this very moment yesterday, I was punishing the children for being late for dinner." He draped his arm across her shoulders as they strolled back toward the house. "Then you arrived. At that point, punishment hardly seemed ... _called for_, especially considering the offense."

"Oh? What had they done?"

"They went to the abbey."

"What?!"

"Yes! They went to the abbey to bring you back. Did no one tell you?"

"No!" Her voice rang with amazement, then with amusement. "Those dear children. It sounds like one of Louisa's ideas ..."

"Well, I don't know if they had thought it through exactly. They cooked up a truly awful story about picking strawberries. I take it as an excellent reflection on their upbringing that my children are terrible liars," he chuckled.

"How do you know that's where they went, then?"

"Straightforward deduction. It's what I wanted to do, had I felt I had a right." His voice grew soft.

She slipped her arm around his waist and pulled him closer as they walked.

"I suppose Sister Berthe would have been quite scandalized if you had stormed the abbey," she quipped lightly. "But, in the end, she might have been pleased. She never thought I would make a very good nun."

He looked over at her, grinning.

They had reached the house and were walking up the patio when Maria caught sight of the gardener trimming the hedge under the parlor window. He had stopped his work, the trimmers paused in midair as he stared at them open-mouthed. Maria loosened her grip on the Captain's waist, but he squeezed her shoulder, pulled her more firmly against his side, and winked at her. His expression read _They might as well get used to it._ And to Maria's relief, the gardener, aware of himself once more, tipped his cap and offered the new mistress of the house a small but sincere smile.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Sound of Music ... except on DVD.

**Author's notes:** If you've been keeping up with the story, this chapter is new. It replaces the previous chapter 4 (which has now become chapter 5). Confused? Don't be. Just read :) Let me know what you think!

This chapter was a tough one. I wanted it to emphasize the strengths Maria brings to the marriage, since the previous chapters are a little "Captain-heavy" (as if that's a bad thing) and Maria is shown in a fairly passive light.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Maria had left Austria once before in her life for a short visit to Germany—where the language was the same even if the accent was different. Now, as she stood in the bustling Parisian train station, a delightful cacophony of foreign sounds played upon her ear. She was captivated above all by the modulation of her husband's voice as he haggled with a driver about transporting them and their luggage to their hotel. She couldn't understand a word of the conversation, but she loved hearing his familiar tone diverted into such unfamiliar sounds.

Another train arrived, disgorging scores of passengers onto the platform, and the resulting sea of humanity held such interest as to tear Maria's attention from her husband's strong jaw and sharp profile. Her gaze roved from person to person as she played at distinguishing the Parisians from the visitors, the French from the foreigners. There were women with aquiline noses and haughty expressions, harried parents dragging their children hurriedly through the crowd, finely dressed young men with slick hair that glinted under the electric lights, a couple reunited after a seemingly long absence—all fodder for Maria's expansive imagination.

Her eye, however, fell quickly upon a sight that replaced the playful expression of her eyes with one of profound sympathy. A young girl who looked to be about Marta's age was sitting against a pillar several feet away. She was shabbily dressed, alone, and wearing a distinctly forlorn expression.

A whisper of indecision flitted briefly across Maria's features. Then, chin firmly set, she stepped away from her husband's side and strode toward a nearby cart where a man was selling bread. She pointed to a large bun, took from a small handbag the francs Georg had given her on the train, and murmured a self-conscious "Merci" to the vendor as he wrapped the bun in paper. She made one additional purchase—a delicate bunch of lavender—then stepped toward the pillar where the girl sat.

Maria squatted down in front of her and gave her a bright smile. "Hello," she said, and the girl looked up quizzically at the sound of her foreign tongue. "I bought you some flowers. They smell wonderful." Maria brought the lavender to her nose and inhaled deeply. "Here." She held them out to the girl, who regarded her with a confused and wary expression. "See how good they smell?" She sniffed them again, closing her eyes with exaggerated contentment. Comprehending at last, the girl sniffed the flowers, and a shy smile crept across her face, kindling a light in her eyes.

Maria smiled broadly in return, and the girl relaxed visibly, her smile widening, revealing a deep dimple in her cheek. "I thought you might like them. You can keep them." She pushed the stems gently into the child's yielding hand.

"Are you hungry?" Maria asked, unwrapping the bun from the paper. The girl gazed keenly at the bread. "I'm starving," Maria continued, rubbing her stomach to mime hunger. "I've been on a train all day." She tore off a piece and put it in her mouth, then held the bun out to the girl, who, less reticent than before, broke off a healthy chunk and began to eat. She met Maria's eye and was graced with a friendly wink as they both chewed contentedly through the crusty bread.

"You know, I'm quite sure I'll have a meal awaiting me at my hotel," Maria mused theatrically as she swallowed her first mouthful. As if making a sudden decision, she pressed the remaining bread into the girl's hand, indicating that she should keep it. "It would be a shame to spoil my appetite."

The girl beamed up at her, but then something beyond Maria's shoulder caught her eye and her smile faded. Maria looked around to see that Georg had come up behind her. She stood and turned to face him, wiping crumbs from her blouse. "Are we ready, darling?" she asked expectantly.

"Yes, everything is arranged." He paused, smiling down at her, and his voice softened. "It looks like you're already making friends in Paris."

Maria chuckled and glanced toward the pillar, but the girl had disappeared.

"I think I scared her away," Georg added, shaking his head ruefully. "I do seem to have that effect on children."

Touched by the wistfulness in his voice, Maria stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. She enveloped his hand in both of hers as they began to walk. "Oh, Captain, it has nothing to do with you _per_ _se_," she explained encouragingly. "It's just that you're so ... tall."

A short burst of amused laughter escaped his lips. "Tall? Is that what you call it?"

"Mm-hm."

"I thought perhaps _terrifying_ was a more applicable term."

"Even I was frightened of you at first," she replied, teasing him. "Until you blew that silly whistle."

"Oh, I can be a bit of a tyrant," he said, taking both her hands in his and pulling her around gently so she was facing him. "You, however ... are an angel." He brought her hand—the one that wore his ring—to his lips. "I have something for you."

He reached into his jacket and pulled from an inside pocket a delicate bunch of lavender. He held it up to his nose and inhaled lightly, then tilted it downward so she could smell it too.

She laughed a crystalline laugh.

"I was watching," he admitted with a half-guilty shrug, his eyes overflowing with tenderness.

It was amazing, Maria mused absently as her gaze melded with his, how two people could suddenly be alone in a busy train station.

"Nothing," she murmured, lowering her eyes to look once more at the delicate flowers he held between them, "could convince me that you have ever been anything but gentle, kind, and completely soft-hearted."

"Ah," he breathed, running a hand through her hair and tilting her head back up so he could see her face. "What about being a father who didn't know his own children and dressed them in straitjackets?"

She laughed sympathetically and cocked her head, looking him straight in the eye. "Darling, you aren't allowed to quote me being peevish—at least, not today." He chuckled, enchanted, and she reached up to caress his cheek. "Besides, as a father, you were just a little ... out of practice."

* * *

A comfortable pattern of domestic bliss had developed in the von Trapp household during the week following the Captain and Maria's engagement. Each evening, the family sat down to supper and the children would talk excitedly about the events of the day and concoct plans for the next. Then, when plates were clean and the food began to settle comfortably in their stomachs, the party would reconvene in the family room. Still basking in the glow of Maria's return, the children would sit around her as she sang, told them stories, or taught them a new song that she had loved as a child. 

Sometimes Max would interject a timely joke or a comic tale that would send the children into a fit of giggles. Sometimes the Captain would join in the singing, powerless to resist any invitation that Maria's eyes held out to him. Most often he was content to sit and watch her, to let her voice wash over him, to see how beautifully she interacted with his children. Her inherent ability to understand and respond to each of their personalities continually astounded him—the way she addressed Liesl as an adult, the particular attention she paid Marta, the knowing looks she shared with Brigitta.

When a contented languor had begun to bewitch them all, Maria would announce that it was time for the children to go to bed. With only a few grumbles of complaint, the children would say goodnight, and soon thereafter Maria would excuse herself for a moment to check on them and tuck them into bed.

On the fifth evening, however, instead of taking her leave as usual, Maria turned to the Captain and held out her hand. "Coming, darling?" she asked, as if they had come to some kind of understanding beforehand. He looked up at her blankly, then at her outstretched hand. With a bewildered glance at Max, he got to his feet and obediently accepted her hand.

"Please excuse us, Max," Maria said. "We'll be back shortly." Max waved them off, chuckling as he turned his twinkling eyes back to his magazine.

Her fingers entwined lightly with his, Maria led the Captain through the grand entranceway; then he paused on the landing and cast her a quizzical look, unsure of what she had planned.

"I always say goodnight to the boys first," Maria explained helpfully, pulling him toward the staircase.

When they reached the upper level, she rapped lightly on the first door, then opened it a crack and poked her head in. Kurt was sitting on his bed, absorbed in picking at a scab on his knee. Maria gave him a look of exaggerated sternness, and he pulled his pajama pant leg down, grinning sheepishly. Friedrich was propped on his elbow, reading a book by the light of his bedside lamp.

"Goodnight, you two." Maria said warmly.

"Goodnight, Fraulein Maria," Kurt replied, flopping back onto his pillows.

"Goodnight, Fr—" Friedrich began but then stopped when he noticed his father standing in the doorway just behind his governess. His face twitched slightly. "Goodnight, Fraulein Maria. Goodnight, Father." He looked gravely pleased.

Kurt had sat back up. "Goodnight, Father!" he exclaimed jovially.

"Goodnight, Kurt. Friedrich." The Captain nodded at each of them.

Maria shut the door with a gentle click and guided him down the hallway to where the soft glow from an open doorway cast a triangle of light on the carpet. Brigitta too was reading a book in bed. Louisa was combing her thick blond hair, and Liesl sat gazing out the window across the lake, still dressed in her dinner clothes. Each looked around at the sound of Maria's voice, and they looked at each other with pleased surprise when they saw their father standing beside her in the doorway.

"Goodnight, Father. Goodnight, Fraulein Maria." Brigitta's large eyes sparkled as she marked her place and closed the book.

Liesl smiled playfully as she stood up from the window seat and performed a dainty curtsy. "Goodnight, Father. Goodnight, Mother. — I'm just practicing," she responded innocently to the startled look on her father's face. Louisa couldn't contain a giggle.

"Goodnight, ladies," the Captain said archly, a smile tugging at his lips. His hand traveled to rest on Maria's shoulder as he pulled the door shut, leaving the two of them alone in the dark hallway. He placed a kiss on her forehead, and she snaked her arm around his waist as they continued on to the nursery where Gretl and Marta slept.

When they looked into the nursery, they saw the two girls sitting on the edge of Marta's bed looking through a picture book and talking quietly to each other.

"Hello, girls," Maria's musical voice interrupted their murmurs of conversation. "Are you all ready for bed?"

"Yes!" Gretl replied, bounding off of the bed to stand at Maria's side. "But I can't sleep until you fix my hair," she announced gravely.

"Come sit over here," Maria replied, taking her hand and leading her to the child-size vanity that sat beside the window. "Do you want it in a braid?" Gretl nodded enthusiastically and began chattering away to her governess as the latter ran the brush through her long sandy hair.

The Captain, left standing just inside the doorway, looked over at Marta, who had turned her attention back to her picture book. Glancing around as if for some kind of support, he finally moved over to the bed and perched himself somewhat stiffly beside his daughter.

"Hello, what have you got here?" he asked her, fingering a page of the book.

She looked up at him shyly. "It's a story about a princess."

"Is that her?" he asked, pointing to an illustration of a young woman in a flowing pink gown. "She's very beautiful."

"Her dress is lovely," Marta volunteered sincerely, running her finger down the length of the gown.

"Shall I read it to you?"

She looked quickly up at him and nodded, suddenly smiling and revealing the gap left behind by a recently lost tooth.

When Maria turned her attention from Gretl a few minutes later, her eyes glowed with sudden warmth at what she saw. Marta was sitting beside her father, her arms wrapped loosely around his arm as her head leaned against it, completely captivated by the story. As he reached the last page and closed the book with gentle and slow finality, his daughter gazed up at him adoringly. He dropped a quick kiss on the top of her head and helped her settle down onto her pillow.

"Goodnight, darling," he said and received another flash of a smile in return before she closed her eyes and turned onto her side.

He felt a slight tug on his trousers and looked down to see Gretl with her head cocked back, looking up at him. "Goodnight, Father," she said.

He reached down and lifted her high into the air. "_Goodness_, you've gotten big!" he exclaimed, kissing her on the nose as he brought her down to rest on his hip. He dropped her gently onto her bed and somewhat awkwardly tucked the covers around her little body. "Goodnight, Gretl."

"Goodnight, girls," Maria echoed, as she flipped off the light and gestured for the Captain to follow her out of the room.

When the door was shut behind them and they were alone again in the dim hallway, the Captain, suddenly self-conscious, stiffened somewhat and cleared his throat. "Shall we rejoin Max, then?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"In a moment," Maria replied, looking up at him with shining eyes before moving onto her tiptoes and pressing her warm and inviting lips to his. She felt him relax into her touch.

"Was that _my_ goodnight kiss?" he murmured, one eyebrow raised flirtatiously.

"One of many, I hope," was her irresistible reply.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Sound of Music ... except on DVD.

**Author's notes:** For those of you who are keeping up with the story, this is not a new chapter (it was previously posted as chapter 4). The current Chapter 4, however, is new. I finally got the structure the way I wanted it, so there shouldn't be any more spastic chapter changes in future.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Maria leaned on the stone railing of the bridge, looking out over the Seine at the towers of Notre Dame rising majestically above the surrounding buildings. She always felt a sense of awe before a cathedral, but this one was cloaked in an air of romance that captured her completely. It stood in soft shadows before her, the pink and purple streaks of dusk providing a gorgeous backdrop. All Paris seemed to soften in the light of sundown, as though an air of reverence had settled upon it, and Maria felt herself transfixed by that same reverence. She turned to the Captain, beside her on the bridge. His expression mirrored her own, but she was surprised to find that his gaze was fixed steadily upon _her_.

"It's so beautiful," she breathed.

"Hm?" he remarked absently, tearing his gaze from her to take in the sights that had so captivated her. "Oh. Yes, of course," he agreed, placing his arm around her shoulders and pulling her gently closer. They stood together in peaceful silence for several moments, listening to the water as it lapped languidly against the bridge's pilings.

"Shall we walk to Notre Dame, darling?" he asked softly, breaking the reverie.

Maria nodded. They crossed the remainder of the bridge and began to stroll along the sidewalk toward the cathedral. The book and flower vendors whose booths lined the street were packing their wares, their unhurried movements hushed, as though commerce had no place in such a setting. A few street lamps began to pop into life, casting a faint glow into the dusk around them.

Maria stopped and took Georg's hand, pulling him gently towards the staircase leading down to the riverbank. "Let's go along the river," she suggested, looking up at him with eyes full of irresistible tenderness. "It will be like our walks at home."

He smiled and obliged. He loved being near the water, and he knew well that Maria could never be too long separated from nature.

* * *

One evening some weeks before the wedding, Maria and Georg were strolling along the lake, as was their custom. The children were in bed, and Max had pointedly and conveniently declared that he too was "turning in," granting the couple some precious moments of solitude. Their conversation meandered pleasantly and, in time, turned to the afternoon of the Captain's arrival from Vienna with the baroness.

"... I don't know who saw you first—one of the children. They were so excited! We had been preparing for your arrival for quite some time, you know. I was excited too ... and _nervous_ all at the same time. And then ... well, I certainly didn't expect you to react as you did."

"Ah. That. Don't remind me. I was dreadful," Georg replied, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. "But you know, I really was quite amused at first."

Maria glanced over at him, her skepticism evident.

"It's true," he chuckled defensively. "One could hardly help being amused at such a sight, especially when one of the unfortunate boaters is a beautiful woman, no matter how stubborn and willful." He turned to face her as he spoke, raising one of her hands to his lips.

"With a temper and a tendency to speak her mind?" she added.

"O-ho yes, that too."

"Your attitude did cure me of my nerves, however."

He shook his head ruefully, then paused, suddenly pensive. "You know ... I couldn't have explained at the time _why_ I was so angry. I suppose I had formed a picture in my mind of how the children's meeting with Elsa would be. I had almost resolved to make her their mother, and I wanted them to make the right impression." His voice faded away, and he looked out over the lake, temporarily lost in thought.

Maria's glance shifted to her feet. She still was not entirely comfortable with having displaced the baroness so thoroughly.

"But now I understand the chief cause of my irritation," he continued, returning to himself, and she looked up at him with evident curiosity.

"It was your _voice ... _your dress ... your hair ... your eyes ..." The words were pronounced softly and distinctly. "I was falling in love with you but completely unprepared to admit that to myself. I was only aware that my well-planned vision of the future was being undermined and that _you_ were somehow the cause of it."

Maria, transfixed by the candor and simple eloquence of his admission, stepped closer to him, nestling her head beneath his chin. "The way I _lectured_ you ... That could hardly have recommended me." She shook her head slightly, brow furrowed.

"I won't pretend that I like being lectured, darling. I'm accustomed to being in command—but I could never fall in love with someone whom I didn't trust to reveal her opinions."

She pulled away so she could see his face, a smile tugging at her lips. "Well then, I suppose I do meet the qualifications for the post."

"Not _meet_. _Exceed_."

She laughed. "That _can_ be interpreted in different ways, Captain."

He smiled down at her fondly, and she relaxed into his gaze, allowing her contentment to radiate freely.

He pulled her closer and caressed her cheek. When he spoke, his tone was intimate. "What about you, Maria? You who speak your mind. Dare I ask what your opinion of me was at that moment?"

"I thought you were cold, heartless, and tyrannical ... and very handsome," she admitted, her eyes shifting with self-conscious humor as a guilty smile blossomed on her face.

He raised an eyebrow. "Handsome?"

"Mm-hm. _Very_ handsome."

"Hardly an appropriate thought for a postulant," he teased, looking entirely pleased.

"Well, it certainly wasn't the first time I failed to live up to the standards of convent life. Nor the last, for that matter."

"Some day you will have to tell me _why_ you were so much trouble at the abbey."

"It would be a long conversation." Her eyes danced, then grew serious. "Georg, my opinion of you changed remarkably when I saw you only a few minutes later with the children."

A tinge of self-consciousness invaded his countenance. Though so much had changed, he was still not entirely comfortable in his relationship—past or present—with his children. "No longer handsome?"

"No longer heartless," she countered with great sincerity, holding his gaze.

He spoke momentarily, breaking the silence. "Speaking of the children, there's something I've wondered about that day. When I was driving down the lane and saw the children in the trees ... where, may I ask, were _you_?"

She chuckled self-consciously and averted her gaze.

A sly smile stole across his face. "Maria," he said, chiding her for her lack of response.

She pivoted on her toes and took up her stroll again along the lake, chin lifted, hands crossed at the small of her back, a picture of exaggerated casualness.

"You can't escape from me," he laughed, jogging a few steps to catch up with her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him, stooping so his eyes were level with hers.

Her eyes smiled back at him but remained playfully mute.

"Ah, I see. Alright then. Were you ..." he searched theatrically for his words "... picking berries? No? Hmm ..." He sucked in his cheeks and clicked his tongue absently, his brow furrowed. "Preparing the dory for a voyage down the lake?" Her eyes still teased him. He stepped forward suddenly, grasping her hands, his gaze swooping in to claim the truth from hers. "You were up in a tree too, _weren't_ you!"

She said nothing, but her eyes leapt, laughing, and she broke their gaze, looking up at the sky, a warm blush suffusing her cheeks.

He laughed triumphantly, gathering her to him. As he tilted her chin upwards, he murmured something—Maria couldn't quite catch what—about "urchins," then he pressed his smiling lips to hers.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Sound of Music ... except on DVD.

**Author's notes: **This chapter will be new for some but not for others.

Thanks to everyone who has provided feedback! Let me know what you think.

Caldosh, I tried to answer your PM, but you have PM turned off. Hopefully this answers your question ;)

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Maria filled her lungs with the summer air, savoring the sensation of the wind sifting her hair. Before today, the furthest she had ever traveled in an open-air car had been the few times she and Georg had driven into Salzburg together, and she delighted in the freshness of the breeze as it gently slapped her cheeks.

She glanced over at her husband, seated beside her, eyes focused on the road, his hat set at a roguish angle that she found immensely attractive. An untrained eye might call his profile stern, his posture rigid, but Maria was becoming a connoisseur of his various aspects, and she could see that his shoulders and mouth were relaxed as his hands lightly gripped the steering wheel.

She was awash with contentment. Paris was lovely, but the glimpses of French countryside she had caught from the train had remained fresh in her memory, teasing her. She had spoken of this to her husband—not with the intention of prompting any action on his part, but casually, automatically, as she often now shared her thoughts as they tumbled lightly through her mind. That was all it had taken to spur Georg into hiring a car for an outing away from the city.

"I feel more at home in the country myself, you know," he had responded when she protested against his indulging her every whim.

They had purchased a road map and had left the city without any particular destination in mind, though there was no point driving to the east, Georg had said: the region still hadn't recovered from the devastation left behind by the War. And so they had taken the route north into Normandy, a quiet and serene countryside, free from the scars of battle.

They had driven aimlessly, admiring the subtle patchwork of yellows, greens, and blues laced with hedgerows that had likely stood for generations. In the afternoon, they had lunched at a small café run entirely by an elderly man named Henri and his smiling wife. The excellent wine and sausages had induced a contented languor as they set off again along the country roads, but the fresh air had quickly revitalized Maria.

She reached over and ran a finger lightly down her husband's cheek, and he took a hand off the steering wheel to entwine his fingers with hers. At a bend in the road, they came upon an old farmhouse that seemed to rise organically from the surrounding landscape, and he slowed the car to give them a better look.

"Georg," Maria began, speaking for the first time since they had resumed their drive, "what are those trees planted in a row? I've never seen anything like them at home."

"Which trees, darling?"

"There," she pointed, "with the leaves growing in bunches like perfect spheres."

"Well, I'm not sure what kind of trees they are, but the round bunches aren't part of the tree at all. They are mistletoe."

"_Mistletoe?!_ Oh, Georg, we have to stop!"

He blinked at her, startled by her sudden and unexpected excitement. "Certainly, darling, but what for?" he asked, pulling onto the bank of grass that lined the road and stopping the engine.

"Mistletoe! I've never seen it growing before. I've never even really _seen_ it before except perhaps a few sprigs at Christmastime. But I heard so many stories about it when I was a child!" Her face shone with enthusiasm.

He still regarded her somewhat blankly, as though awaiting further explanation.

"When I was a child," she continued, "we didn't have many books to read. But there was a woman—Frau Dietrich—who came once a week to do the washing. I had to spend the day helping her, and while we worked she would tell me stories." As she spoke her cheeks glowed and her eyes took on a faraway look. "She knew so many stories. There were ogres and fairies and trolls, witches and sprites and animals that talked. And always too there was mistletoe, the most magical plant."

He laughed, enchanted by the youthful spirit that had possession of her. "I could draw up a long list of reasons for you not to be a nun," he teased. "But now I know the whole truth. You're practically pagan!"

She had gotten out of the car and was looking up at the plant where it hung, a dozen feet above her head. Georg came around the car to join her in that aspect, draping his arm across her shoulders. Suddenly, she stooped down, slipped off her shoes and began to remove her stockings.

"Maria," he said, standing stock-still, a tinge of amusement in his voice. "What are you doing?"

She moved closer to the tree, examining the trunk as though to judge its soundness.

"Maria," he repeated, slightly alarmed. "You're not thinking of climbing that tree." It was more a question than a statement.

"They say," she responded, still looking up at her target, "that the properties of mistletoe are at their most potent when harvested freshly from the tree."

"Surely you don't believe that."

She cast him a slightly exasperated look, as if to communicate that he was missing the point entirely.

"It brings good fortune to a house," she explained, in a decided tone. "And besides, a sprig at the bedroom door gives a couple sweet dreams."

She braced one hand against the trunk and began to position herself as if to climb, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"Darling, you give me sweet dreams. I don't think we need a plant."

At this irresistible remark, she allowed him to pull her into a long embrace.

"And yet, I am not dissuaded, Captain," Maria's musical voice sounded clearly when his lips had left hers and had begun to trace a path across her cheek.

Georg erupted in a burst of laughter. "I do know when I've been defeated, _Fraulein_," he stated, releasing her from his embrace.

She turned purposefully back to the tree, but a firm hand again deterred her. She turned to see him loosening his necktie. Her expression was questioning.

"You can hardly expect me to stand by while my wife risks her neck climbing a tree. That would be terribly ungallant of me."

"But—" Maria blinked at him, at a loss. "Georg, really, you don't ... I didn't mean for you—"

He tossed his hat onto the passenger seat and removed his jacket, draping it neatly over the steering wheel. He seemed to be no longer paying heed to her, as though he had internalized all his energy and concentration for measuring the task at hand. She ceded at this show of resolve and stepped back, bewildered, to lean against the car, watching as he rolled his sleeves.

He hoisted himself onto the lowest branch—which was still very high—muttering softly to himself. The bark bit roughly into his palms as he grasped the trunk to move higher. He hadn't climbed a tree in years, and, in fact, he mused ruefully as he pulled himself yet higher, he likely hadn't climbed a tree since before he had become a father almost seventeen years previously. Certainly, when he had left the hotel that morning with his smartly-dressed and beautiful wife at his side, he had had no intimation that he would find himself up a tree before nightfall. However, Maria carried the fresh and unexpected into every aspect of his life, and an indulgent smile tugged at his lips in spite of his tender hands, lack of dignity, and dirty trousers.

He reached the lowest-hanging bundle of mistletoe and broke off several sprigs, slipping them into his pocket. When both his feet were at last planted once more on solid ground, he extracted the sprigs from his pocket with one hand, wiping bark from his shoulder with the other. "Enough mistletoe," he announced, slightly winded, "to last a very long time, I hope—"

He stopped short as he looked up into her face. He had thought he knew the play of her eyes intimately, but there was an unfamiliar light in her gaze, white-hot and brilliant.

"Maria ... ?" he spoke softly, questioningly.

She took in every inch of him—the contrast of his open collar with his upright posture, the lock of hair that had tumbled onto his forehead, the beads of sweat gathered at his temples—each feature grown (she would have thought it impossible) more beloved than before. Her stomach leapt as he stepped towards her. She could _feel_ her eyes glow.

"I love you," she said, and it was as if her throat might burst from the enormity of it. The mistletoe slipped back into his pocket, unheeded, as something flashed deep within his eyes. He was very close to her now. Her heart thudded wildly as he took her face in his hands, gazing down at her with the burning intensity that so characterized him.

She closed her eyes. "I love you," she repeated, almost a murmur, as she raised her lips to his with a new urgency. His hands responded, raking through her hair, along her shoulders, down her back, clasping her to him with a force that left her breathless. As if sensing this, he relented and pulled away slightly, his forehead pressed to hers.

"Back to Paris, darling?" His voice was strained and tight.

"_Yes_."

* * *

**Author's note:** Mistletoe only grows in a few parts of Austria, but it is prevalent in the mythology of Western Europe. And it's true that in Austria, it is believed that mistletoe at the bedroom door brings a couple sweet dreams. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Sound of Music ... except on DVD.

**Author's notes: **

For the purposes of this vignette, I'm acting on the assumption that the Captain could not enter Nonnberg Abbey under normal circumstances. The abbey is a cloistered abbey, so it would be unusual for men to enter. I don't know all the ins and outs of convent protocol, but I chose the approach that worked best for my concept. Thanks to imnotacommittee for willingness to engage in a discussion of this topic.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Georg swung his feet around the edge of the bed and stood, rubbing his eyes roughly. He found Maria standing on the balcony, her bare arms gleaming in the moonlight as she leaned against the balustrade. Beyond her, the lights of boats moving down the Seine glinted.

He walked toward her, allowing his feet to pad against the stone of the balcony, careful not to startle her. When she turned her head and smiled at him, he crossed the few feet that separated them and slipped his arms around her waist, burying his face in the hollow of her neck and inhaling the scent of her skin as she leaned into him.

"How long have you been awake?" he murmured, kissing her shoulder.

"Not long," she replied languidly, tilting her head to allow him better access. She breathed deeply, savoring his caress and watching the boats passing below. The faint sounds of a bustling city at night filtered upward. "Thank you for today, Georg," she spoke at last.

He pressed his cheek to hers and entwined their fingers together against the smooth silk that covered her torso. "What were you thinking about when I saw you just now?" His voice was feather-soft, hardly a whisper.

"I've been praying." She craned her head to meet his gaze, and he dropped a kiss on her nose. Her eyes glowed, lamp-like in the moonlight. "Trying to express my gratitude for all this. For being here with you. For being part of such a beautiful family."

"It is we who are blessed to have you. You are ... everything."

She inclined her head in mute and slightly abashed thanks. "Not _everything_, Georg."

"I know it, and the children do as well," he countered. He paused and kissed the curve of her ear. "Maria, do you have any idea what a wonderful mother you will be? I can't wait to see you with a baby in your arms. Perhaps two at once."

She laughed softly. "You can't imagine how shocked I was when the Reverend Mother told me I was going to be governess to seven children. _Seven_. The prospect was so daunting. And now ... I can't fathom being a single child less, nor can I conceive of not having more."

He pulled her more tightly against him, chuckling. "Well, I do have the testimony of eleven governesses that seven can be more than sufficient." His mood turned playful, and he let go her hands, running his palms down the cool skin of her arms. "Maria, let's have _scores_ of children—an entire army of von Trapps."

"Well ... perhaps enough to man a small U-boat," she replied, eliciting a hearty laugh. "What should we have first?" she continued. "A boy or a girl?"

"Oh, undoubtedly a girl."

"Really? I should have thought you would want to even out our numbers."

"Darling, I have a terrible soft spot for little girls. Especially tomboys."

She turned her head and grinned at him.

"I would be delighted with a little Klara who climbs trees, just like her mother," he continued, one hand trailing up her arm, across her shoulder, and into her hair. "Or a Johanna who chases squirrels. Or an Elisabeth who collects spiders. Or a —"

"Anna," she interrupted.

"Yes, or Ella, or Erika, or Petra —"

"Anna," she repeated firmly, turning in his arms to face him, her gaze clear, steady, and serious.

He searched her face, and the playful animation of his features softened into something more serious and tender as they stood together in the moonlight.

"It was my mother's name."

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, his eyes not leaving hers. He nodded. "Anna."

* * *

"Georg ..." Maria began, somewhat hesitantly. It was a few days following their engagement, and she and the Captain were sitting on the villa's veranda watching the children play. Kurt and Louisa were attempting to instruct Brigitta in the finer points of rowing a boat, and she was not catching on well, prompting repeated chuckles from her father. He turned to Maria at the sound of her voice, amusement still animating his face.

"I'd like to take a trip into town. I was thinking tomorrow might be a good day for it. I could catch the bus right after breakfast, and I might even be able to make it back before lunchtime—"

"Absolutely out of the question," he answered promptly, cutting her off with an authoritative shake of the head.

Her cheeks burned with a sudden flash of color, and he saw her neck stiffen as she opened her mouth to retort. His eyes widened in surprise, and he held up a placating hand, laughing uncomfortably. "Forgive me, darling. I didn't mean to be so abrupt. What I meant was, of course you won't be taking the bus. If you want to go into town, I can certainly drive you there myself."

Her indignation vanished. "I really don't mind going on my own. I don't want to inconvenience you."

He looked at her with frank but amused disbelief. "As if spending a few hours alone with you could be an inconvenience. Maria, you know it would be a pleasure to go driving with you. We haven't had enough time alone as it is," he added in a low voice.

She smiled, her eyes communicating her mute acceptance of his offer. She looked out at the children on the lake, her expression pleased but a bit embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm still accustomed to 'taking leave,'" she chuckled in a self-deprecating tone.

He smiled tenderly and reached out to caress her cheek, his hand coming to rest on her neck. They sat in silence as he ran his fingers through the short hairs at her nape. She relaxed and sighed with contentment, closing her eyes and savoring the feel of his hand on her skin and the sun on her face.

"What is it that you need to do in town?" He raised an eyebrow playfully. "Or is it a secret?"

She shook her head. "No, no secret. I want to go to the abbey to speak with the Reverend Mother. It's been three days now since I left her, and I need to let her know, well, what has happened." She met his gaze with a sheepish smile.

He turned in his chair to face her fully and gave her his complete attention, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "She means a lot to you, doesn't she?" he asked, searching her face with a gentle but penetrating gaze.

"Yes," she replied softly, glancing downward and then looking back out beyond the lake.

In the short time of their intimacy, Georg had discovered that Maria, though transparent in her emotions in so many ways, was reserved when it came to discussing her life before her arrival at the villa. He had broached the subject and had encountered some resistance. Conscious of her own reticence, she had assured him that while her past held nothing shameful, little of it was very happy. He had not pressed her further, and yet he was consumed with a desire to know her completely.

"You asked me yesterday why I had stayed so long in the abbey," she began, as though reading his thoughts.

He acknowledged the fact with a slight inclination of his head. "And you told me that you believed it was so you could be led to us." His voice was deep and warm.

She glanced at him briefly, her blue eyes grazing his appreciatively. "Yes." The bright sun glinted off her golden hair and flooded her profile with light. "I do believe that. But if there were any other reason, I think it would be because of her." She looked at him again and held his gaze for a moment before turning her eyes back to the lake and the mountains beyond. "I never had a mother before ..." Her voice trailed away softly and they sat in silence for a long moment.

oooooooooooooooooooo

Shortly after breakfast the following morning, Georg and Maria set out on the drive toward Salzburg, leaving the children in the care of Max, whom the Captain, after a moment's consideration, described as an "able" guardian in response to Maria's somewhat skeptical expression.

"Who else do you expect will care for them while we're on our honeymoon?" he asked her, amused.

Her eyes twinkled. "I have no doubt they will conduct themselves with much more propriety under his care than they did the last time you were away from home," she teased, and he groaned at this allusion to his past conduct. "Honestly, he'll probably fill their heads with thoughts of singing in the festival."

He laughed and drew her closer to him as he drove, one arm draped across her shoulders. "A small price to pay, darling. A small price to pay."

When at last they arrived in Salzburg, they directed their steps up the road that led to the abbey.

"You're sure they won't let me in?" he murmured playfully, grasping her elbow and pulling her toward the wall when they were a few feet from the unassuming grill that served as the abbey's front gate. "Not even to meet the famous Sister Berthe?"

She rolled her eyes, but a grin split her face, and she accepted a swift, private kiss before turning to the bell and giving the cord a firm tug. They moved to stand in front of the gate, and he rested a hand lightly on her back. A lone figure moved toward them at a measured pace.

"Oh, Georg," Maria murmured under her breath. "You're in luck."

The nun had reached the gate, and though the play of emotions on her face was studiously controlled, she could not quite conceal her curiosity as her eyes left the glowing Maria to steal a glance at the rather imposing-looking Captain.

"Maria," she pronounced in a welcoming tone, nodding demurely.

"Sister Berthe!" Maria placed a touch more accent on the name than was strictly necessary. If the Captain were not an expert practitioner of the straight face, the nun might have noticed how his eyes flashed with playful interest.

"I've come to see the Reverend Mother," Maria continued brightly. "I telephoned last night to let her know I was coming."

"Yes, I believe she is expecting you."

Sister Berthe opened the gate to allow Maria entry. Georg tapped his fiancée on the shoulder and indicated wordlessly that he would wait for her across the street. As Maria turned to walk toward the courtyard, Sister Berthe pushed the gate slowly shut, allowing her eyes to meet the Captain's and to hold his gaze. He nodded to her once, his expression candid. When she turned to leave, he allowed a smile to spread across his face. He placed his hat back on his head and strolled across the street with a buoyant step to take in the view of the town below.

He chuckled softly. His brief exchange with the nun, though wordless, had convinced him that she was a woman of keen discernment and not lacking in humor. He was infinitely grateful that Sister Berthe had recognized the obvious—that Maria was completely unsuited for convent life. He shook his head, smiling. At some point, Maria might recognize that God had been watching out for her through _all_ the women of this abbey.

She had told him how, as a girl, she would climb the tree that afforded a view into the abbey grounds; how she had yearned to be a part of them; how she had felt that God was calling her to that vocation. _God knew she was starved for peace and female companionship_, he thought with a pang at the idea of his vibrant and sensitive fiancée enduring a loveless childhood.

It had made him love her more, that conversation of the day before—to him, the most intimate conversation they had ever had.

"_Did you not know your mother at all?"_

"_Not really. She died when I was very young—younger even than Gretl. I have a few snatches of memory, that's all."_

"_What do you remember?" he asked, his voice soft and incredibly tender. She had turned her face to him, her eyes still lowered, but she looked up and held his gaze at this question._

"_I remember a smell. Clean and flowery, mixed with smells from the kitchen." Her eyes glowed with the memory, though they did not lose their melancholy._

"_Apple strudel ..." she added, sighing deeply. She closed her eyes for a moment as though picturing an image in her mind. "Once, we took a sleigh ride in the snow ..."_

_He placed a hand on her cheek. "What else?"_

_She looked at him, the soft glow of her eyes pulsing brighter as her lips curved faintly upward. "I remember her singing to me."_

"_Ahh." He nodded in quiet realization, a soft smile spreading across his face. "And could her voice possibly have been as beautiful as her daughter's?"_

_She straightened suddenly and laughed—a quick laugh, full of some enigmatic emotion.._

_His brow knit in confusion, but he remained still, searching her gaze and waiting for her to speak._

"_I'm sorry. You startled me is all. You are only the second person in my memory who has ever called me that before."_

"_Called you ... ?"_

"_A daughter."_

The sound of Maria's bright laughter echoing through the convent courtyard interrupted his reverie, and he looked up sharply. She was walking toward the entrance, accompanied by a stately looking nun. It had to be the Reverend Mother.

He removed his hat and strode purposefully toward the gate. Maria and the elderly nun reached the entrance as he did, and Maria opened the gate and went to him, taking his arm as they faced the mother abbess under the archway.

"Mother, this is my fiancé, Captain Georg von Trapp," Maria stated. He could hear the smile in her voice, drawing him to her, but he resisted the temptation to remove his attention from the older woman to whom he was being introduced.

"Captain von Trapp," the abbess repeated in greeting, nodding to him and holding out her hand. He took it and bowed slightly before releasing it. "I have known you by reputation," she continued, sizing him up with warm but penetrating eyes. "It is a pleasure to meet you in person."

"Thank you," he replied. "The pleasure is mine. Your abbey is a credit to Austria, and Maria speaks of you with great respect."

"She speaks very highly of you as well." The Reverend Mother held his gaze, and he saw good humor in her expression.

"Yes," he smiled—a bit foolishly, he thought. He glanced down to take in his fiancée's profile before meeting the older woman's eyes again. "With your permission, Reverend Mother, I have asked Maria to be my wife." He looked again at Maria as he spoke, and their eyes locked. His arm had made its way around her shoulder.

"Maria has told me of your plans to marry," the abbess replied, a shade of approval in her voice. "It has been of great concern to me that Maria find her path in life, and, by the grace of God, she has done so. I give you my blessing."

"Thank you, Mother," Maria murmured.

"I ask only one thing of you, my child, and of you too, Captain, if you will permit me—though it is merely the request of an old woman and need not be heeded."

"Anything, Mother," Maria replied.

"Consider holding the ceremony here, at the abbey. We would, all of us, like to have that occasion to say goodbye."

"'All of us,' Mother?"

"Maria, you have many sisters here who will miss you very much."

Maria chuckled and shook her head. "I was always so much trouble."

"Don't underestimate the charm of that characteristic, darling," the Captain interjected, eliciting a rich laugh from the elder woman. He turned to the mother abbess, whose face was lined with years of care and humor, and they were bound in that moment by the mutual love they felt for Maria. "We would be honored to be married here," he said with quiet fervency.

She nodded, then turned to Maria. "I must go now. My daughter, I am very, very happy for you."

Maria, her eyes swimming with tears, stepped forward impulsively and embraced the old nun. "Thank you." At last the abbess stepped away, holding Maria's gaze for a moment as a small smile graced her lips.

"Goodbye, Maria, Captain." She pulled the gate shut.

They stood silently and watched the Reverend Mother's retreating figure. Then, her fingers entwined through the Georg's, Maria stepped away from the gate, and began to lead him back down the road. After a few steps, he stopped and wordlessly pulled her into his arms. As soon as her head was nestled against his chest, Maria began to shake with silent sobs. He held her tightly against him and stroked her hair.

When her tears had subsided, she pulled away to meet his gaze. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, but her eyes shone with love. "Thank you. I needed to say goodbye."

"It was your home for a long time."

"Yes." She looked back at the abbey. "But I knew that I would be leaving it. I knew it, in my heart at least, within hours of returning from the villa ... when I left you without saying goodbye." She turned back to him. "I had changed, and I had to move on regardless of what happened. Even if you really had married the baroness, even if you hadn't loved me—"

"I love you," he said with the same conviction as when he had first declared his feelings to her, and with equal certainty, Maria knew again that she had found her home.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Sound of Music ... except on DVD.

**Author's Notes: **For those of you who have written me, thank you. You inspired another chapter.

* * *

**Chapter 8**

"Hello!" Maria's voice rang out happily as she pushed the door of the hotel room shut behind her. She carried a baguette under her arm and a small, tissue-wrapped parcel in her hand. "I bought the chocolate croissants again," she laughed. "I know I said I was going to try something new, but I just couldn't help it."

Her voice trailed off as she took in the empty room. "Georg?"

He was on the balcony. His back was turned, and she perceived a rigidness to his posture that made her pulse quicken—not with passion or excitement, but with apprehension. Throughout their honeymoon, he had been more relaxed than she had ever imagined possible—quicker to laugh, to tease, to permit his veneer of "Captain" to fall away. Now the tension emanated from him in waves.

On the small table just inside the door to the balcony, that morning's edition of _Le Monde_ lay open beside a half-empty cup of coffee. Though she could not read the headlines, she recognized enough words—_Hitler, Nazi, l'Autriche_—to grasp the problem. She set down her parcels and approached him. His shoulders were hunched and taut as he leaned on his elbows against the balustrade.

"Georg," she repeated gently.

He glanced at her quickly—a flash of blue heat—then his brooding glare settled once more on the empty sky in front of him.

"The Anschluss," he murmured, his voice flat.

"It happened?" she gasped, her heart suddenly hammering.

"No. But Schuschnigg has made more concessions to the Nazis. He is caving in one by one to Hitler's demands. God knows I have never particularly admired Schuschnigg or his government, but the _Nazis_ ..." he pronounced this last word with utmost loathing.

A shiver ran up her spine. "Is it inevitable?" she asked quietly as she stared out into nothingness with him. A noise like a strangled bark of laughter escaped him, and he reached out to grip her hand on the balustrade.

"It will come to war," he pronounced hollowly. "The French and English are fools if they cannot grasp that conquest is at the heart of the Nazi ideology. Eventually they will have to react. There will be war, and we Austrians will be pulled into it in spite of ourselves."

He paused, then turned to her and gripped her elbow tightly. "I have seen war," he said, his voice low, his eyes revealing a fathomless melancholy. "I have seen it, and I would not have my sons see the things I have seen—not for the sake of the Nazi cause."

She gazed into his eyes, absorbing the pain she saw there, interpreting the faint note of pleading he held out to her. All at once she understood. "You are thinking of leaving Austria. If the Anschluss comes ..."

"Yes."

Her frank gaze clouded with a new emotion but did not waver.

He continued. "Maybe not immediately. But one day they will come for our sons to make them fight, and then ..."

"Where would we go? Switzerland?"

"Hitler seeks to expand to the east, the west, the north, the south. What country is safe from him? We would have to leave the continent—"

"America," she murmured softly, her eyes distant as though she searched for an answer inside herself. "America would be safe."

He blinked once, surprised, then nodded. "America would be safe."

"It is very far." Her voice caught in her throat and her chin quivered slightly.

His arms slipped around her waist and pulled her to him. "I am sorry, Maria," he murmured against her hair. "This is not the life I hoped to give you. I have dreamed of making you mistress of our home. I have imagined years spent roaming the hills with you in the shadow of the Untersberg."

Tears choked her voice, but a note of conviction rang through. "You know that my home is wherever you and the children are."

They stood in silence for several minutes. Then, slipping from his embrace, Maria took his hand, and led him gently back into the room. When she tugged at his lapel, he shrugged off the jacket and allowed her to take it from him. Then she bent down and silently untied the laces of his shoes.

"Hold me for a while," she said, straightening. She laid on the bed and guided him down after her. His arms wrapped tightly around her as she nestled against his chest. A sudden shudder traveled the length of her body, and he pulled her closer.

"Georg," she murmured, "please tell me. Will the Nazis come for you too?"

She felt him exhale sharply. "I have considered that possibility," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "But my feelings about the Nazis are well known. The Nazis prize loyalty and blind conformity to their ideology. I do not think they would put a dissenter in command."

For that moment, she allowed herself to accept his reasoning. Surrounded in the cocoon of warmth he provided, it was difficult to think clearly of the realities that lay before them. Soon Maria drifted, memories lapping at the edges of her consciousness.

* * *

The ballroom still wasn't used much, even though the Captain had chosen to let life return to it. They had used it for the puppet show—at Max's insistence—then again for the ball, but Maria had not been part of the ball. Now, three weeks later, she stood in the center of the room, alone, enjoying its silent grandeur. 

She chuckled softly. That morning at breakfast, as he looked gloomily through the window at the rain streaming from one of the villa's balconies, Friedrich had had the audacity to ask his father if they could continue the previous day's four-square competition in the ballroom. "It is not a gymnasium, Friedrich," his father had replied in clipped tones.

It _was_ a beautiful room. Maria moved to the wall and skimmed her fingers across the gold leaf that ornamented it, imagining it as it had been when filled with light, music, and a tuxedoed man with a white cross around his neck.

"Hello." The Captain's voice broke through her reverie, and she jumped slightly. He laughed. "I didn't mean to startle you. I saw that the door was open."

She blushed automatically at having been discovered somewhere she had no business being, but she turned to him with the newfound confidence she had developed in all matters that concerned him.

He stepped towards her, hands clasped behind his back, examining his surroundings with airy indifference. "I believe we have done this before, you and I," he said, his voice thick with _ennui._

"Yes," she replied. "You were a martinet, I recall."

"And you," he retorted, one eyebrow raised, "were nosy." A slow smile spread across his face.

"I suppose so," she admitted with a laugh, her radiant smile an answer to his. "That was your first impression of me, then?"

He reached out and took her hand, all affectation gone. "Hmm. I would say my first impression was that your face did not match your dress. That was disconcerting. I was prepared for the dress but not for you, you see." He chuckled at the memory, looking down and then back up at her. "Do you remember calling me 'Reverend Captain?'" he asked.

"_What?_" she laughed again, her eyes widening in surprise. "I suppose I was very nervous. I had spent the entire trip from Salzburg trying to get up my courage."

"Well, you have no need for courage now, darling. For one thing, your dress is lovely; for another, I've come looking for you with the certitude of being entirely pleased by everything about you."

"Were you looking for me?"

"Yes. In fact," his posture took on a hint of formality, "I am here to deliver a message."

She looked at him expectantly, and he continued. "Marta and Gretl came to my study a few minutes ago to inform me that they are tired of reading and would like to do something else. I took the liberty of volunteering my services in finding you. It seemed a very pleasant task."

Her eyes glowed appreciatively. "I fear the weather this summer has spoiled us. I don't know how the children will survive being confined to a classroom again when September comes."

"_You_ have spoiled them by giving them a magical summer. But I wonder ... what does our _fraulein_ have up her sleeve for a rainy day like today?"

"Well ..." She bit her lip for a moment, thoughtful, and spun around slowly to take in each corner of the room. "To be honest, I do have an idea," she began, her voice tinged with hesitation.

He cocked his head, waiting.

She examined his face with her clear gaze. At last, resolution settled in her eyes, and her words tumbled out in a rush. "I was thinking that it _is_ a shame that all of this glorious space is so seldom used. I was imagining playing a game in here with the children. Nothing that would cause any damage of course," she added quickly. "Just some games I liked to play when I was a girl."

He rocked back slightly on his heels, surprised by this sudden effusion. Releasing her hand, he stepped across the room, hands clasped again behind his back. His eyes traveled over the chandelier, the walls, the rain pounding steadily on the stones of the terrace outside. Then he turned to search her face. When he spoke, his voice was low and tender. "Maria, you are to be mistress of this house. In my mind, you already have that distinction. This room is yours to use as you wish."

"Will you join us, if we play?" she asked, a glow of contentment suffusing her cheeks.

"Aha. Well—"

"Father!" A high-pitched voice interrupted them. "You found her!"

"Yes, darling. I'm here," Maria replied, smiling broadly as Gretl bounded across the room with Marta following close on her heels.

Gretl threw her arms around Maria's waist while Marta stopped beside her father and wrapped an arm around his leg.

"Fraulein Maria," Gretl began, her head tilted back as her chin rested against Maria's stomach, "we're tired of reading."

Maria reached down and caressed the girl's hair and cheek. "Tired? You haven't been reading for very long."

"We've read three whole books," Marta burst forth.

"That is quite a lot of reading," her father replied, nodding gravely.

"Well ..." Maria said as though contemplating a difficult question, "I suppose we could take a break and play a game, _if_ you can convince your brothers and sisters to give up their studies for the rest of the day."

"We can do it! I know we can!" Gretl responded enthusiastically.

"Well then, let's see what we can do," the Captain said, sweeping Marta up in his arms and swinging her onto his back. "Shall we?" He motioned for Maria and Gretl to take the lead. Gretl bounded off again ahead of them.

"Father? If we play a game, will you play with us?" Marta asked with a slight lisp as they left the room.

He laughed—an admission of defeat—and squeezed her small hand. She tightened her grip around his neck and giggled happily.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Sound of Music ... except on DVD.

**Author's Notes:** Please read and review. Reviews only take a second and will remind me why I come home and stare at a computer screen after I've stared at one all day long at work ...

Incidentally, the term "lovers" as used in this chapter refers to the general idea of people being in love. It has no overtly sexual implications.

Clearly, I have a thing for massages (see my other story).

* * *

**Chapter 9**

Maria's eyelids fluttered open. The room was dark, shadowed, and peaceful. The sheer curtains that hung before the open balcony doors rippled in the breeze; her husband liked letting in the fresh summer air at night. She became conscious of her skin prickling in the cool air. Her arm, shoulder, and back had escaped the blankets. She rolled over and snuggled back into the covers—toward the source of warmth and of what seemed to her a limitless wellspring of happiness.

He lay beside her, a dark presence in the haze of moonlight that penetrated the room. The heat of his body and the rhythm of his slow, steady breathing lulled her, but she resisted the pull of sleep. Instead, she propped herself on her elbow and considered his sleeping figure. He lay on his back, his head tilted slightly toward her. One hand lay limp near his brow, and his jutting elbow formed a bridge that kept him in contact with her pillow. This idle, restful hand captivated her. In daylight, his hands were so purposeful. They were strong and masculine with long, finely sculpted fingers like those of an artist or musician. They were also gentle hands, she knew, and her body tingled with the memory of a sensation that his fingers had burned deftly into her skin.

Her gaze traced the line of these curved fingers to his forehead. His dark hair was smoothed back from his brow, except the one wayward lock that tended to fall forward. The first time she had seen him thus disheveled was on an afternoon when he had taken her out on the lake behind the villa. The wind had worked steadily against his thick hair, finally liberating it to beat rhythmically against his forehead with each gust. Perhaps he would have brushed it back into place, but his hands had been occupied with the oars.

She had loved it, and she had loved him. He must have perceived her happiness, because he had laughed suddenly, an exultant laugh that displayed his dimples and the roundness of his cheeks. She had been overcome with a desire to kiss him, a longing more keen than she had ever felt up to that point. Instead, she had begun to hum happily, letting her fingers skate across the surface of the cool water as her eyes shone in his direction.

She still found the sight of that lock of hair irresistible. Her husband was a dignified man who did not shed his air of formality and reserve in company. She, however, was granted a deeper view. Only _she_ saw his hair tumble forward unrestrained as he hovered above her and searched her gaze hungrily.

She reveled in his hunger for her. During the first days of their engagement, it had amazed her how singularly he was devoted to her. She had never really had a low opinion of herself. But she also felt that she knew her limitations, and the intensity of his regard seemed beyond anything she could possibly merit. She was entirely sure of her love for him and his for her, but all the same ...

Her insecurities had melted away, however, as the weeks passed. He had treated her in every way as an equal, and it seemed to her that he had made the transition from employer and employee to lovers without a shred of awkwardness. Soon she found herself teasing him more, touching him more, outwardly seeking his affection, expressing her opinions as boldly as she had before she had been silenced by the overwhelming realization that she was falling in love with him. He had seemed pleased as her hesitancy and restraint crumbled bit by bit.

Now, lying beside him, she couldn't resist the indulgence of touching him. She reached out and brushed her thumb across his lower lip. He shifted, inhaling deeply. His lips parted, closed again, then were still. She knew those lips in many aspects—drawn into a thin, stern line; twitching slightly as though resisting laughter; stretching, wide and full, into a sudden smile; caressing her ear silkily as he murmured: _Oh my love, my love, my love ..._

She smiled and moved closer, her face only inches from his. Her fingers, light as air, traced the firm line of his jaw, skipping across his shadow of a beard. She had found that she loved watching her husband shave, though she couldn't quite pinpoint why. Perhaps it was his habit of performing this activity wearing a bathrobe slung loosely around his body. Perhaps it was his shaving cream and aftershave that she quickly identified as being the source of a scent she associated with the moment he had first kissed her, drawing his lips across her face and caressing her cheek with his. Perhaps it was the sight of the clean, sharp blade scraping expertly across his skin as though he had complete mastery of this dangerous object. He had laughed at her fascination with what he considered to be a mundane task, but he had proven himself happy to humor her in this as in all things.

Maria heard his breathing change before she noticed that he was watching her. His gaze flickered dreamily across her face as though he were half asleep. "It isn't morning, my love?" he murmured, his voice thick with fatigue.

"No." She caressed his cheek with the palm of her hand. "I'm just cold."

"Mm," he grunted softly and turned onto his side, reaching a warm arm across her to draw her against him. She rolled into him, the cool skin of her back nestling against the warmth of his chest.

"I love you," she murmured.

"Maria," he breathed.

She felt his arm rest heavier upon her as sleep reclaimed him. His chest rose and fell with each deep, peaceful breath. Wrapped in his warmth, her eyelids too began to grow heavy, and her breathing slowed until they were in perfect concert.

* * *

Maria smoothed the folds of her dress nervously as she made her way down the villa's imposing staircase. For the first time since her engagement, she was not looking forward to sitting down to eat with the family. Her sense of trepidation had nothing to do with the children, nor had Georg really caused any problems. She was just ... embarrassed. 

It had been a dreadful day.

It had started before breakfast when Louisa tripped her older brother as they were all hurrying down to breakfast. Friedrich had lurched forward, knocking Gretl heavily to one side and causing Maria to collide against the banister hard enough to make her gasp in pain. As Gretl burst into tears, Maria had scolded Friedrich, who in turn had protested defensively that he too was a victim.

When a repentant Louisa had stepped forward as the guilty party, even issuing a sharp reprimand had not been sufficient to ease Maria's irritation. On the contrary, it had been compounded by her guilt afterwards at seeing Louisa's hangdog expression and by Friedrich's angry hissings of reproof at his sister all the way down to the dining room.

After breakfast, Brigitta had realized that one of her books was missing. She claimed that her brothers had hidden it from her on purpose—an accusation they firmly denied—and in an attempt to appease her, Maria helped her search for an hour until Brigitta, blushing, remembered that she had left it sitting in a window seat after all. When Maria had returned to the rest of children, prepared to exonerate the boys, she was dismayed to find Gretl in a panic because Kurt had threatened her doll. Liesl, who had been given the task of keeping an eye on her brothers and sisters, had failed to notice this drama because she was mooning over Rolf in a corner.

As the morning stretched on toward lunchtime, Maria's head had begun to throb, as had the bruise that was undoubtedly forming where her ribs had made contact with the banister. One thought consoled her—by lunchtime, Georg would be back from driving Max to town. But when she entered the dining room, Frau Schmidt had arrived with the message that the Captain had been detained by an urgent matter and would have lunch sent to his study when he arrived home.

The final straw of the day, however, had occurred when she and the children were playing a ballgame after lunch. Kurt, who had eaten too much before running around energetically for an hour, threw up all over Marta, who was wearing her favorite pink dress. Maria had rushed her upstairs to change, but Marta had been inconsolable about the stained dress.

Maria had finally ordered the children into the library to work on their studies—a command that was met by a chorus of groans—and, full of pique, she had thrown herself into a chair on the patio, rubbing her temples in exhaustion. It was at that precise moment that Georg had entered the scene. He had been absent all morning and, upon his return, had repaired directly to his study, far removed from any scenes of vomit and strife. He stepped breezily onto the patio, pacing to the railing and addressing Maria in a tone that seemed to her utterly distracted and cavalier.

"Darling, have you decided yet what invitations you want for the wedding? The printer just called me, and he needs to know immediately if we're to have them ready on time. I know how you feel about all of these 'society' details, but—"

"_Really_ Georg, what do I care how you go about inviting your friends to the wedding?" she had snapped hotly.

He had frozen in mid-stride at this unusual outburst and had looked down at her for the first time, taking in her posture and appearance. Slowly, a small smile that seemed entirely inappropriate to the situation had pulled at his lips. It hadn't been a sneer—to her mind, a sneer might have been better. Rather, it had looked to her like an expression of restrained delight. Her irritation turned to anger. _Well, if he was going to laugh at her...!_

She had opened her mouth to retort but he cut her off. "You look tired," he had stated simply. "Why don't you take some time to yourself until dinner?"

As she fumed over it afterward, free from the distraction of the children, she had begun to realize how childish her outburst had been and how little he had deserved it. He hadn't made Kurt eat too much at lunch, nor had he encouraged Marta to howl over her stained pink dress. It also wasn't his fault that he had hundreds of guests to invite to the wedding whereas she had only a handful. By the time she entered the dining room that evening and saw the family seated and awaiting her, she felt completely abashed by her earlier behavior.

"Good evening, children. Good evening, Georg," she muttered as she smoothed her skirt under her and took her seat.

Georg took in her discomfited appearance. "Shall I say grace, darling?" he asked kindly.

"Uh ... yes, thank you."

Opening her eyes at "amen," Maria noticed the food that was on the table. Was it a coincidence, or had Georg specifically asked the cook to prepare her favorite meal? She felt the beginnings of another rush of remorse, but as she met her fiancé's gaze and saw the faint, forgiving smile on his lips, she experienced instead a swell of affection. She realized with gratitude that she would not be expected to talk or to explain herself. Instead, Georg engaged the children in conversation, asking each one about his or her day.

Marta informed her father with great sincerity and a gap-toothed smile that Frau Schmidt had washed her pink dress and that it was as good as new. "She showed it to me, Father!" she assured him with a nod of the head as if he had questioned the authenticity of her story.

Since it was no longer a painful subject for anyone present, Kurt interjected to recount with great gusto and an enormous grin the tale of how he had gotten sick during their game. Although throwing up was not usually a topic that Georg encouraged at the dinner table, he couldn't help but laugh heartily along with the children before he put an end to Kurt's detailed effusions.

Finally, Georg set his fork down on his plate amid the crumbs that were all that remained of his torte. "Children," he stated in a gentle but authoritative tone, "it's time to go upstairs."

They blinked at him, a bit confused. "But it's only 8 o'clock, Father," Brigitta said.

"All the same. It's been a long day."

He stood and led them from the dining room, informing them quietly when they were out of earshot that, short of a broken bone, they were in no way to come downstairs for the rest of the evening. Then he returned to the dining room and took the seat next to Maria usually occupied by Gretl.

"Georg," she began, "I'm sorry about this afternoon. I was—"

He shook his head. "Please, don't worry about it. You were tired, and I certainly didn't help matters. I had no idea the day had been so ... _eventful,_" he added with a chuckle. She sighed heavily, but she couldn't stop a small smile from tugging at her lips. It did seem quite humorous in retrospect.

"Now," he said, reaching out and taking one of her hands in both of his, "what would you like to do this evening, my love?"

She gazed at him and then closed her eyes as his fingers slowly and methodically massaged the muscles of her hand.

"Anything?" she had asked after a slight pause.

"Of course."

"Well ... would you tell me—I've been wondering—why did you look so pleased when I was angry this afternoon? I can't make any sense of it."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise and laughed lightly. "Remind me never to underestimate your powers of observation." His brow knit in thought as he considered her question. "It was because ... it seemed proof that you are entirely comfortable with me."

She tilted her head, awaiting further explanation.

"Maria, do you remember our first conversations?"

"Our first disagreements, you mean?" she replied, an ironic smile playing at her lips.

"Exactly," he said.

"Exactly?"

"It's a side of you I haven't seen in a while, and it reminded me—quite pleasantly I assure you—of some of those clashes we had."

"Are you telling me, Captain, that you miss my temper?"

"I'm telling you that I fell in love with _all_ of you."

She smiled at him, her countenance suffused with contentment. After a moment's silence, he continued. "You don't ask for much, Fraulein. Is there a second request?"

"Well," she said, her reticence to express her desire betrayed only by the fact that she closed her eyes again as she savored the touch of his fingers working through the tension in her hand, "you could tell me once more about what was going through your head during all of those moments we spent together before I went back to the abbey."

"It would be a pleasure."

Later, as they sat on a bench in the gazebo (she had chosen the setting for the evening's activity), she kissed him. She held a finger to his lips to silence him and reached up to kiss him as fully as she knew how. It was only the second time she had initiated a kiss. The first time had been the day of their outing on the lake. Taking hold of his outstretched hand, she had stepped awkwardly out of the boat, lost her balance, and thudded against his chest. Instead of pulling away, she had reached up to finger the lock of hair that had so absorbed her that afternoon and then pressed her lips gently to his.

Now, as then, she reveled in the way he cradled her head against his shoulder as he kissed her more deeply than he had in the first days of their engagement. She felt alive, warm, and entirely loved. At last he pulled away, ignoring her noise of protest, and dropped one last kiss on her forehead.

"Maria, let's go on an outing tomorrow, just the two of us."

"There is a place in the hills I've wanted to show you. It's one of my favorite spots."

He considered for a moment, and she saw his lips turn upward in a half-smile. "I can think of nothing more delightful than roaming the hills with you, but I think it would be wise to choose a locale that's more ... public. Unless we take Max along, which might defeat our purpose."

She blushed, then laughed. "He _is_ a wonderful chaperon, but I do see your point. When will he be back from Salzburg?"

"He may be back already." He stood and looked toward the villa. "Shall we go see?" He seemed as reluctant to leave as she was, but he held out his hand to her, which she accepted.

"I know of an artisan in Strobl who makes marionettes. Perhaps we could go there tomorrow for a demonstration," he suggested as they started toward the house.

She nodded in approval, adding after a moment, "Don't tell Max that's why we're going, darling. I don't have the strength to put together any more theatrical productions before the wedding."

He laughed and drew her close as they reached the patio just as Max appeared in the doorway, a cup in one hand and a piece of strudel in the other.


End file.
